


Adjustments

by agent_florida



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Cyborgs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-23
Updated: 2010-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:08:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/pseuds/agent_florida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They used to joke that they were becoming the same person. It’s not so funny, though, when it actually happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adjustments

They used to joke, late at night, blackout curtains covering the windows and nothing but a sheet covering their nakedness, that they were becoming the same person, two bodies becoming one, each of them belonging to the other wholeheartedly.  
  
Neither of them had expected it to become so literal.  
  
Sure, it had been an accident, but it didn’t justify what Sarge had done to them. It didn’t justify the days of disorientation, the nights full of pain, and that moment when Grif looked in the mirror and realized that Simmons was staring back.  
  
Nothing felt right. His hands weren’t his. His mouth, his lungs, his stomach, his  _heart_  – none of them his. The only thing he knew for sure was his own was the tan skin still covering parts of his body, stitched together gruesomely with a shade significantly paler. This wasn’t the body he’d grown up with, the body he’d indulged with junk food and punished with smoking, and it was so hard to look at himself and identify with this – with this –   
  
Not like Simmons was ugly or anything before…  _it_ … happened. He’d been on the nerdy side of good-looking, rare smiles spreading crookedly across his face, a little too skinny for his own good, slim limbs gangly enough to tangle with his in the middle of the night – day – whenever it was that Sarge told them to sleep, nothing to do with the sun. But the fact was that they just weren’t the same. Sarge couldn’t just copy all of Simmons and put it on him for him to deal with because he couldn’t. He couldn’t deal with it. This wasn’t him.  
  
He still knew he was better off compared to Simmons, though. What Sarge had done to him – he shuddered, not wanting to think about it. The bionic eye, a red point of light in an otherwise human-looking face, was one of the few outward indicators that nothing was what it seemed. But it wasn’t like he’d meet Grif’s gaze anyhow: he’d been avoiding Grif since the accident, moving in stiff jerks to get further away from him.  
  
So Grif was alone. Hideously deformed, with not even his junk to call his own, and it wasn’t like he could beat off anyway, because it was Simmons’ hand and Simmons’ package and oh, God, why did this have to happen to both of them, why, they had been so – well, not  _happy_ , but carefree, back in the days when everything was a joke and they didn’t have to take anything seriously.  
  
Suddenly things weren’t so funny any more.  
  
“Why have you been avoiding me, fuckface?” he finally snapped once Simmons came back to the room they shared in Red Base.  
  
“Avoiding you?  _You’ve_  been avoiding  _me_ , dumbass.” Grif could hear a machine-like whine come from the inside of Simmons’ body as he threw himself onto his bed; he didn’t want to think about what kinds of gears he was grinding.  
  
“I haven’t been – look, you won’t even look at me any more,” he complained.  
  
“It’s fucking creepy, that’s why,” Simmons snapped, only proving Grif’s point when he turned over and faced the wall.  
  
“ ‘Fucking creepy’?” Grif parroted. “No, ‘fucking creepy’ is looking at a robot in a human body.  _That’s_  ‘fucking creepy’.”  
  
“And you wonder why I’ve been avoiding you,” Simmons sighed to the wall, deliberately bringing out a tattered comic book.  
  
Grif found himself wondering if Simmons could turn those new bionic ears off, completely block what he was saying, so he goaded him again. “Ha! Told you you were the one avoiding me.”  
  
“Why don’t we say we were both avoiding each other and call this a night, huh?” Simmons barked over his shoulder, turning the page of his comic a little too hard.  
  
“I want to know  _why_. Is it because you’re ugly and you can’t stand to see yourself?” Grif could see Simmons’ shoulders moving ever-closer to his reddening ears, and it wouldn’t be long now before his fuse was fully lit. “Or is it because you’re jealous?”  
  
“Why the fuck would I be jealous?” That did it – he turned around on the bed and glared at him, the stare only more disconcerting when it was done with eyes that didn’t match, one green, one red. “You’re just the dumbass who got himself nearly killed in a Warthog accident and  _stole my whole fucking body_ , that’s all.”  
  
“Your whole – I didn’t, look, there’s still parts of me that are –“ He wanted to say ‘mine,’ but all of it was his now, every grisly inch, every part that he didn’t want. He pointed to a wide patch of tanned skin stretched over his elbow. “Besides, that wasn’t me. That was Sarge. Oh, wait, did you want to go kiss his ass some more for making you a cyborg? Sorry, but I think I got your mouth in the deal.”  
  
He should have known better to goad Simmons; he didn’t know the strength of his parts, and he didn’t particularly want to find out the hard way. He was probably about to, though, judging by how quickly Simmons stood and threw his comic at the wall. “You think I  _wanted_  this to happen? You think I  _wanted_  to be a fucking robot?” He stood menacingly over Grif and flexed his fingers into a fist, his joints making hydraulic hissing noises. “I can’t even – there are things I  _really fucking miss_  about having my own body. At least you’re still  _human_.”  
  
“Are you kidding me? I’m Frankenstein’s fucking monster over here. All my relevant parts? Yours.” He was past the boiling point – Simmons had to know how much it  _hurt_ , not just physically, but  _hurt_ , so deep that he didn’t even know who he was any more. “I can’t do  _anything_  without being reminded of it,” and to Simmons’ horrified look he continued, “yes,  _anything_ , and you don’t know how badly – you’ve been avoiding me, you jackass, and I –”  
  
“I’ve been avoiding you because  _I’m a robot_ ,” Simmons pointed out, voice rising in anger. “You don’t go around thinking to yourself ‘man, I think I’ll go fuck Lopez, he looks ready for a round,’ do you?”  
  
“I don’t  _want_  Lopez, I want  _you_ , you self-absorbed – goddamn –“ He’d said it. He’d said it and he couldn’t take it back. “I mean, look at me. I have  _seams on my skin_. It’s completely disgusting. At least you look all right on the outside.”  
  
“You still have some of your own,” Simmons said quietly, touching a bit with a fingertip. His synthetic skin was cool to the touch, soft as it smoothed a path down his shoulder, towards a jagged scar that connected a graft. Grif hissed at the unfamiliar sensation when Simmons tried to trace it. “You still want me?”  
  
“Yes, you stupid – what, you can’t tell me that you want  _this >_,” he said, gesturing to himself as Simmons sat on his bed. “I mean, I’m still ‘fucking creepy’, right?”  
  
“It’s…” Simmons sighed, and when Grif closed his eyes, his voice sounded like it always had. Maybe some things didn’t change. “It’s a little weird. I mean, you still look like  _you_ , but – I can tell what he took. Maybe – maybe it was a sign.”  
  
“A sign that what? That I’m robosexual or something?” Because he still wanted, the voice sounded the same, and he could believe with his eyes closed that nothing had ever changed, that nothing  _would_  ever change, that it would still be the two of them against whatever crapsack world was out there.  
  
“No, a sign that you’re a  _complete dumbass_  if you think I don’t still want you.”  
  
Grif knew it was coming, tried to brace himself, but there was nothing to brace for. Without looking, without feeling too hard, the kiss still felt the same, Simmons tasted the same as he always had, still tried to tug at his lip with his teeth when he tried to pull back. It was only when he opened his eyes that he freaked out – Simmons was trying to straddle him around the waist, his seamless skin brushing up against all of his new scars. “This is too weird, we can’t –“ he tried to complain.  
  
“Shut your eyes, dumbass.” Simmons’ cool hands seemed to want to memorize every stitch in his skin, every part where he was different, reconcile it with the things that were the same.  
  
“But –“ he complained feebly, trying to keep from grasping Simmons’ arms with his hands (Simmons’ hands still, or his own by now?).  
  
“Shut up.” It was a moot point by now – Simmons was kissing him again, a hand smoothing its way through his hair.  
  
Every nerve ending of his scalp felt like it was on fire, tingling with electricity. “Oh, don’t tell me I swapped fuckin’ hot spots with you too,” he groaned, reaching out to get a grip on Simmons’ hand.  
  
When the pad of a thumb slid against the inside of his wrist, a spot that had never been sensitive before, and made his entire being stand on end, he knew. “Mm, this’ll be fun,” Simmons murmured against his neck.  
  
“Fuckin’ –  _god_ , Simmons, why didn’t you tell me?” He would have been better, would have known to run his hands through his hair, pin his wrists above his head, would have known how to lick that spot on Simmons’ neck –  _his_  neck – everything was blurring and he just couldn’t bring himself to care, it felt too  _good_  for him to care.  
  
Simmons’ new skin was thicker than he’d expected; he couldn’t sink his teeth in, couldn’t draw blood while he raked his nails down his spine, but he still shivered in the same way. Could robots get boners? ‘Cause he could definitely feel  _something_  on his abs, and he didn’t exactly feel confident enough to reach down and find out.  
  
Simmons, though, seemed to want to know Grif’s situation, because he was peeling Grif’s boxers off, exposing the flesh that shouldn’t have been Grif’s. He whistled low once it was bare. “Now I know why you always complained,” he murmured.  
  
“I always complain about everything,” Grif muttered, but it was cut off in a gasp as Simmons’ hand mechanically closed around his (Grif’s? Simmons’?) pale cock, stroking  _justright_ , like he never knew he wanted. “Not – not complaining about this, though,” he managed to gasp out.  
  
Simmons was moving Grif’s hands to his body, encouraging him to touch, to explore, to feel. Grif, with his eyes screwed shut, was relying on his other senses to feel the similarities still between them, and the skin felt reassuringly familiar to him, the smell, the texture. It wasn’t as easy to move against him, though. Simmons could tell what he was trying to do and laughed in his ear, the sound bright, reassuring, just like always. “Robots don’t have sweat glands, dumbass.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I didn’t know cyborgs had sex drives, either.” As soon as it came out of his mouth, he knew he was going to regret teasing Simmons, and the retribution started right away. Anything else sarcastic that he might have said left his brain completely when Simmons sank onto him – no prep from Grif, just as slick on the inside as he wasn’t on the outside. “Got an upgrade,” he managed to gasp out.  
  
“So did you,” Simmons groaned out, moving against him. “God  _fuck_ , it was never like this before.”  
  
“What are you trying to say?” Grif thrust against him, hard, then harder, trying to knock the words out of his mouth. “That it was awful before? That you hated it?”  
  
“No – just that –“ Simmons was breathless by now, just like he always had been when he was on the edge. “It’s – it’s different – but it’s the  _same_  – Grif, I –“  
  
Grif thought Simmons was going to rip his stitches, the way he was clutching onto his shoulders for dear life, but it was just what he needed to crest, feeling undone and put back together all at once, safe with someone who understood just how fucked up this whole situation was. He opened his eyes, and it was Simmons staring back at him: Simmons 2.0, maybe, but still the same person. And he could still feel, could still  _be_ , human, still could retain everything about himself that Simmons wanted.  
  
The sentimental moment didn’t last long; Grif saw the liquid that was pooling on his stomach and shuddered. “What the hell is that, cyborg jizz?”  
  
“Don’t ask me, this thing doesn’t exactly come with an instruction manual.” He did get off of Grif and search for a towel, though, and Grif was thankful he was at least cleaning up his own mess.  
  
“Get me my smokes while you’re up.” It wasn’t a question. He was simply too blissed-out, and too lazy, to get up and get them himself.  
  
“You’re not smoking any more,” Simmons protested, smacking the towel down on Grif’s torso.  
  
“That hurt, you asshole!” At least he didn’t have to wonder what that –  _stuff_  – was any more. “And why can’ t I smoke? You let me smoke before.”  
  
“Because you have my body now,” he said, in that isn’t-it-obvious supernerd tone of his. “I might need it back someday, and if you – if you ruin it –“  
  
Simmons couldn’t keep up the protest; his words dissolved into laughter, at first weak, but becoming stronger as Grif joined him. “Fuck, this really is absurd, isn’t it?”  
  
“Not really,” Simmons said genially, hitting the lights and returning to Grif’s bed. “I mean, you’re still you, and I’m still me. It’s just that these bodies keep getting in the way.”  
  
“How can you look at me and not think you’re fucking yourself?” Grif asked, curiosity getting the better of him.  
  
“Because it’s not me. It’s you. Well, I guess it is a little weird, when you put it that way,” Simmons acquiesced. “We’ll just have to make some adjustments, is all.”  
  
Grif groaned. “Am I going to go another six months before you’re brave enough to keep your eyes open and the lights on while we have sex?”  
  
The “no” Simmons said sounded a lot like a “yes”, and their conversation petered out into the obvious bickering. It was the same as it ever was, really – same people, different bodies. It would take a lot of adjusting to circumstances, obviously, but they’d already done it once. This? This would be much easier.


End file.
